"Now to Jackson's Gully with him," cried several, and then the party proceeded a little further into the bushes.
"Look out, don't slip into the gully," whispered one member, but loud enough for Tom Atwood to hear.
"Oh, I'll take care!" whispered another. "Why, the gully is a hundred feet deep around here."
Then Tom Atwood was led up and over some rocks and halted a short distance beyond.
"Say, that looks mighty dangerous to me," whispered Roger.
"Oh, he'll get over if he's got nerve," answered Dave.
"Base slave, list thou to me!" cried the president of the Gee Eyes. "We have brought thee to the edge of a gully some hundred feet deep. If thou wouldst become a member of this notorious—I mean illustrious—organization thou must cross the gully on the bridge we have provided. Dost thou accept the condition?"
"I—I don't know," faltered Tom Atwood. "I—I can't see a thing."
"Nor wilt thou until thy task is accomplished. The gully must be crossed, otherwise thou canst not be of us."
"How big is the bridge?"
"One board wide."
